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THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO • DALLAS 
ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN & CO., Limited 

LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. 

TORONTO 



TWENTY 



BY 

STELLA ^ENSON 

author of 
"this is the end," "i pose" 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
1918 

All rights reserved 






COPTEIOHT, 1918, 

By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. 



Set up and electrotyped. Published June, 1918. 



Nariuaob l^ress 

J. 8. Gushing Co. — Berwick & Smith Co. 

Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 



JUN -8 1918 
©CLA4S9286 



PREFACE 

Almost all the verses in this book have 
appeared before, the majority of them 
included in two books, / Pose and 
This is the End. Messrs. Macmillan, 
who published these, have been kind 
in raising no objection to re-publica- 
tion. I have also to thank the Editors 
of the Athenoeum, Everyman, and the 
Pall Mall Gazette for allowing me to 
reprint verses. 

The title of the book has no refer- 
ence to the writer's age. 

S. B. 



CONTENTS 



Page 

Christmas, 1917 9 

The Secret Day 11 

Song 14 

The Orchard 16 

Thanks to my World for the Loan of 

A Fair Day 19 

Song 21 

Words 23 

Redneck's Song 25 

To the Unborn 27 

The Newer Zion 29 

Two Women Sing .... 34 
The Woman Alone . . . .36 

The Inevitable 38 

The Dog Tupman .... 40 

Saint Bride 42 

The Slave of God . , . .44 

True Promises 48 

The Cornishman 51 

Five Smooth Stones . , . ,53 

New Year, 1918 59 

7 



CHRISTMAS, 1917 

A KEY no thief can steal, no time can 

rust; 
A faery door, adventurous and 

golden ; 
A palace, perfect to our eyes — Ah 

must 
Our eyes be holden ? 

Has the past died before this present 

sin? 
Has this most cruel age already 

stoned 
To martyrdom that magic Day, within 
Those halls, enthroned ? 

9 



10 CHRISTMAS, 1917 

No. Through the dancing of the 

young spring rain, 
Through the faint summer, and the 

autumn's burning. 
Our still immortal Day has heard again 
Our steps returning. 



THE SECRET DAY 

My yesterday has gone, has gone and 

left me tired. 
And now to-morrow comes and beats 

upon the door; 
So I have built To-day, the day that 

I desired, 
Lest joy come not again, lest peace 

return no more. 
Lest comfort come no more. 

So I have built To-day, a proud and 

perfect day. 
And I have built the towers of cliffs 

upon the sands ; 
The foxgloves and the gorse I planted 

on my way ; 

11 



n THE SECRET DAY 

The thyme, the velvet thyme, grew up 

beneath my hands, 
Grew pink beneath my hands. 

So I have built To-day, more 

precious than a dream ; 
And I have painted peace upon the 

sky above ; 
And I have made immense and misty 

seas, that seem 
More kind to me than life, more fair 

to me than love — 
More beautiful than love. 

And I have built a house — a house 
upon the brink 

Of high and twisted cliffs ; the sea's 
low singing fills it ; 

And there my Secret Friend abides, 
and there I think 

I'll hide my heart away before to- 
morrow kills it — 

A cold to-morrow kills it. 



THE SECRET DAY 13 

Yes, I have built To-day, a wall against 

To-morrow, 
So let To-morrow knock — I shall not 

be afraid. 
For none shall give me death, and none 

shall give me sorrow, 
And none shall spoil this darling day 

that I have made. 
No storm shall stir my sea. No night 

but mine shall shade 
This day that I have made. 



SONG 

There is the track my feet have worn 
By which my fate may find me : 
From that dim place where I was born 
Those footprints run behind me. 
Uncertain was the trail I left, 
For — oh, the way was stormy ; 
But now this splendid sea has cleft 
My journey from before me. 

Three things the sea shall never end. 
Three things shall mock its power : 
My singing soul, my Secret Friend, 
And this, my perfect hour. 

14 



SONG 15 

And you shall seek me till you reach 

The tangled tide advancing, 

And you shall find upon the beach 

The traces of my dancing, 

And in the air the happy speech 

Of Secret Friends romancing. 



THE ORCHARD 

I WILL repent me of my ways ; 
I will come here and bury 
Five thousand odd superfluous days 
Beneath a flow'ring cherry. 

Between a pear and a cherry tree 
My temple I will enter — 
My place, where even I may be 
The altar and the centre. 

One altar to a thousand aisles, 
A hundred thousand arches . . . 
The loud lamb-choir about me files, 
The bleating bishop marches, 

The congregation kneels and nods. 
The bishop leads its praises, 

16 



THE ORCHARD 17 

So I'll pray too, to their dim gods 
Whose feet are decked with daisies : 

Ah, let me not grow old. Ah, let 
Me not grow old, and falter 
In my delusion, or forget 
My heart was once an altar. 
Let me still think myself a star 
With these my rays about me; 
Pretend these green perspectives are 
All purposeless without me. 

Ah, bid the sun stand still. Ah, 

bid 
The coming night retire, 
And all the good I ever did 
Shall feed your altar fire; 
The hour shall stand and sing your 

praise. 
The minute shall adore you. 
And my ten thousand unborn 

days 
ril sacrifice before you. 



18 THE ORCHARD 

Gods of great joy, and little grief, 
See — I will wear as token 
A pear leaf and a cherry leaf 
Until this pledge he broken. . . . 

Between a pear and a cherry tree 
A cold hand touched my shoulder — 

Ah, my false gods have forsaken 
me, 

I am a minute older. 



THANKS TO MY WORLD FOR 
THE LOAN OF A FAIR DAY 

That day you wrought for me 
Shone, and was ended. 
Perfect your thought for me, 
Whom you befriended. 
Such joy was new to me — 
New, and most splendid. 
More than was due to me. 
More than was due to me. 

Though I do wrong to you. 
Having no power. 
Singing no song to you, 
Bringing no flower, 
Yet does my youth again 
Thrill, for the hour 
Cometh in truth again. 
Cometh in truth again. 

19 



20 THANKS TO MY WORLD 

I shall possess to-day 
All I have wanted, 
All I lacked yesterday 
Now shall be granted. 
No longer dumb to you, 
Changed and enchanted, 
Singing I'll come to you. 
Singing I'll come to you. 

I will amass for you 
Very great treasure. 
Swift years shall pass for you 
Dancing for pleasure. 
Time shall be slave to me. 
Giving — full measure — 
All that you gave to me. 
All that you gave to me. 



SONG 

If I have dared to surrender some imi- 
tation of splendour. 

Something I knew that was tender, 
something I loved that was brave. 

If in my singing I shewed songs that I 
heard on my road. 

Were they not debts that I owed, 
rather than gifts that I gave ? 

If certain hours on their climb up the 
long ladder of time 

Turned my confusion to rhyme, drove 
me to dare an attempt, 

If by fair chance I might seem some- 
times abreast of my theme. 

Was I translating a dream ? Was it a 
dream that you dreamt ? 

21 



22 SONG 

High and miraculous skies bless and 

astonish my eyes; 
All my dead secrets arise, all my dead 

stories come true. 
Here is the Gate to the Sea. Once you 

unlocked it for me ; 
Now, since you gave me the key, shall 

I unlock it for you ? 



WORDS 

Oh words, oh words, and shall you 

rule 
The world? What is it but the 

tongue 
That doth proclaim a man a fool, 
So that his best songs go unsung, 
So that his dreams are sent to school 
And all die young. 

There pass the trav'lling dreams, and 

these 
My soul adores — my words condemn — 
Oh, I would fall upon my knees 
To kiss their golden garments' hem, 
Yet words do lie in wait to seize 
And murder them. 

23 



24 WORDS 

To-night the swinging stars shall 

plumb 
The silence of the sky. And herds 
Of plumed winds like huntsmen come 
To hunt with dreams the restless birds. 
To-night the moon shall strike you 

dumb. 
Oh words, oh words. . . . 



REDNECK'S SONG 

These thirty years 

Old men have filled my ears 

With middle-aged ideas 

That never have been young. 

They made me wise. 

I learnt to whitewash lies. 

I learnt to shut my eyes, 

And hold my tongue. 

Damned Philistine. 
And was it then so fine 
To learn to draw the line. 
(Is there a line to draw ?) 
And must I then 
For threescore years and ten 
Worship the laws of men 
Who worshipped law ? 

25 



26 REDNECK'S SONG 

Those laws are dust 
To-day, and yet I must 
Be faithful still, and trust 
In what dead men did prove. . 
Magic may kill 
Their wisdom and their will. 
Yet I must follow still 
Their path . . . my groove. . 



TO THE UNBORN 

Oh, bend your eyes, nor send your 

glance about. 
Oh, watch your feet, nor stray beyond 

the kerb. 
Oh, bind your heart lest it find secrets 

out. 
For thus no punishment 
Of magic shall disturb 
Your very great content. 

Oh, shut your lips to words that are 

forbidden. 
Oh, throw away your sword, nor think 

to fight. 
Seek not the best, the best is better 

hidden. 

27 



28 TO THE UNBORN 

Thus need you have no fear, 

No terrible delight 

Shall cross your path, my dear. 

Call no man foe, but never love a 

stranger. 
Build up no plan, nor any star pursue. 
Go forth with crowds ; in loneliness is 

danger. 
Thus nothing God can send. 
And nothing God can do 
Shall pierce your peace, my friend. 



THE NEWER ZION 

When I achieve the chestnut joke of 

dying. 
When I slip through that Gate at 

Kensal Green, 
Shall I go spoil the fantasy by 

prying 
Behind the staging of this darling 

scene ? 

Shall I — a cast-off puppet — seek to 

study 
The Showman who manipulates the 

strings. 
The Hand that paints the western 

drop-scene ruddy. 
The prosy truths of all these faery 

things ? 

29 



30 THE NEWER ZION 

Shall I — self-conscious by a glassy 
ocean — 

Stammer strange songs amid an alien 
host? 

Or shall I not, refusing such promo- 
tion, 

Bequeath to London my contented 
ghost ? 

I will come back to my Eternal 
City; 

Her fogs once more my countenance 
shall dim ; 

I will enliven your austere com- 
mittee 

With gossip gleaned among the 
cherubim. 

By day I'll tread again the sounding 

mazes, 
By night I'll track the moths about 

the Park ; 



THE NEWER ZION 31 

My feet shall fall among the dusky 

daisies, 
Nor break nor bruise a petal in the 

dark. 



I will repeat old inexpensive orgies ; 

Drink nectar at the bun-shop in Shore- 
ditch, 

Or call for Nut-Ambrosia at St. 
George's. 

And with a ghost-tip make the waitress 
rich. 



My soundless feet shall fly among the 

runners 
Through the red thunders of a 

Zeppelin raid, 
My still voice cheer the Anti-Aircraft 

gunners, 
The fires shall glare — but I shall 

cast no shade. 



32 THE NEWER ZION 

And if a Shadow, wading in the 

torrent 
Of high excitement, snatch me from 

the riot — 
(Fool that he is) — and fumble with 

his warrant, 
And hail a hearse, and beg me to 

"Go quiet." 



Mocking I'll go, and he shall be postil- 
lion, 

Until we reach the Keeper of the 
Door : 

"Hm . . . Benson . . . Stella . . . 
militant civilian . . . 

There's some mistake, we've had this 
soul before. ..." 



Ah, none shall keep my soul from this 
its Zion ; 



THE NEWER ZION 33 

Lost in the spaces I shall hear and 

bless 
The splendid voice of London, like a 

lion 
Calling its lover in the wilderness. 



TWO WOMEN SING 

First Woman 

Oh woman — woman — woman, — 
Shall I to woman be a friend ? 
I deal with man, and when I can 
Reclaim with interest all I lend. 
Who but a witless gambler plays 
For farthing stakes these golden days ? 
No, woman — woman — woman — 
Must only play the game that pays. 

Second Woman 

Oh woman — woman — woman, — 
To-morrow woman shall awake. 
She shall arise, and realise 
The goodly value of her stake. 

34 



TWO WOMEN SING 35 

And she shall lend her loan, and claim 
Her rightful interest on the same. 
So woman — woman — woman — 
Shall learn at last the paying game. 



THE WOMAN ALONE 

My eyes are girt with outer mists ; 

My ears sing shrill, and this I bless ; 

My finger-nails do bite my fists 

In ecstasy of loneliness. 

This I intend, and this I want, 

That — passing — you may only mark 

A dumb soul with its confidant 

Entombed together in the dark. 

The hoarse church-bells of London 

ring; 
The hoarser horns of London croak ; 
The poor brown lives of London cling 
About the poor brown streets like 

smoke ; 
The deep air stands above my roof 
Like water, to the floating stars. 



THE WOMAN ALONE 37 

My Friend and I — we sit aloof, 
We sit and smile, and bind our scars. 

For you may wound and you may kill — 
It's such a little thing to die — 
Your cruel God may work his will. 
We do not care, my Friend and I. 
Though, at the gate of Paradise, 
Peter the Saint withhold his keys. 
My Friend and I — we have no eyes 
For Heav'n or Hell — or dreams like 
these. . . . 



THE INEVITABLE 

There is a sword, a fatal blade, 
Unthwarted, subtle as the air, 
And I could meet it unafraid 
If I might only meet it fair. 
Yet how I wonder why the Smith 
Who wrought that steel of subtle grain 
Should also be contented with 
So blunt and mean a thing as pain. 

The stars and fire-flies dance in rings. 
The fire-flies set my heart aHght, 
Like fingers, writing magic things 
In flame, upon the wall of night. 
There is high meaning in the skies — 
(The stars and fire-flies — high and 

low — ) 
And all the spangled world is wise 
With knowledge that I almost know. 

88 



THE INEVITABLE 39 

To-morrow I will don my cloak 

Of opal-grey, and I will stand 

Where the palm-shadows stride like 

smoke 
Across the dazzle of the sand. 
To-morrow I will throw this blind 
Blind whiteness from my soul away. 
And pluck this blackness from my 

mind. 
And only leave the medium — grey. 

To-morrow I will cry for gains 
Upon the blue and brazen sky. 
The precious venom in my veins 
To-morrow will be parched and dry. 
To-morrow it shall be my goal 
To throw myself away from me. 
To lose the outline of my soul 
Against the greyness of the sea. 



THE DOG TUPMAN 

Oh little friend of half my days, 
My little friend, who followed me 
Along those crooked sullen ways 
That only you had eyes to see. 

You felt the same. You understood 
You too, defensive and morose, 
Encloaked your secret puppyhood — 
Your secret heart — and hid them close. 

For I alone have seen you serve. 
Disciple of those early springs. 
With ears awry and tail a-curve 
You lost yourself in puppy things. 

And you saw me. You bore in mind 
The clean and sunny things I felt 

40 



THE DOG TUPMAN 41 

When, throwing hate along the wind, 
I flashed the lantern at my belt. 

The moment passed, and we returned 
To barren words and old cold truth. 
Yet in our hearts our lanterns burned. 
We two had seen each other's youth. 

When filthy pain did wrap me round 
Your upright ears I always saw. 
And on my outflung hand I found 
The blessing of your horny paw ; 

And yet — oh impotence of men — 
My paw, more soft but not more wise, 
Old friend, was lacking to you when 
You looked your crisis in the eyes. . . . 

You shared my youth, oh faithful 

friend. 
You let me share your puppyhood ; 
So, if I failed you in the end. 
My friend, my friend, you understood. 



SAINT BRIDE 

About your brow a starry wreath, 

About your feet a wilderness. 

Where young hot hopes grow cold 

beneath 
The tangled bondage of the press. 
Set like a saint within a niche — 
A strait and narrow niche — you hide. 
And weave a veil about you, which 
Can turn our steel. Saint Bride, Saint 

Bride. 

The eyes of coarse and pond'rous man 

Are sceptic and satirical. 

" What, little saint, and still you scan 

Old heaven for that miracle?'' 

Oh heart deceived, yet harmed not, 

42 



SAINT BRIDE 43 

Child-widow of a truth that died, 
Bearer in mind of things forgot, 
Bride of a dream. Saint Bride, Saint 
Bride. 

About you and about you thunders 
The wise young pubhc on its 'bus. 
Exploding all your faery blunders. 
Explaining neatly — " Thus and thus 
Hath science banished heaven now. 
And see — your Groom is crucified — " 
On heaven's breast you lean your brow 
And laugh, and love — Saint Bride, 
Saint Bride. 



THE SLAVE OF GOD 

The finest fruit God ever made 
Hangs from the Tree of Heaven blue. 
It hangs above the steel sea blade 
That cuts the world's great globe in 
two. 

The keenest eye that ever saw 
Stares out of Heaven into mine, 
Spins out my heart, and seems to 

draw 
My soul's elastic very fine. 

The greatest beacon ever fired 
Stands up on Heaven's Hill to show 
The limit of the thing desired, 
Beyond which man may never go. 

4: ^ ^ ^ H: 4: 

44 



THE SLAVE OF GOD 45 

At midnight, when the night did 

dance 
Along the hours that led to 

morning, 
I saw a little boat advance 
Towards the great moon's beacon 

warning. 

(The moon, God's Slave, who 

lights her torch. 
Lest men should slip between the 

bars, 
And run aground on Heav'n, and 

scorch 
To death upon a bank of stars.) 

The little boat, on leaning keel, 
Sang up the mountains of the sea. 
Bearing a man who hoped to steal 
God's Slave from out eternity. 

^^ My love, I see you through my tears. 
No pity in your face I see. 



46 THE SLAVE OF GOD 

I have sailed far across the years : 
Stretch out, stretch out your arms to me. 

*^ My love, I have an island seen. 
So shadowed, God's most piercing star 
Shall never see where we have been. 
Shall never whisper where we are. 

*' There we will wander, you and 7, 
Down guilty and delightful ways. 
While palm-trees plait their fingers 

high 
Against your God's enormous gaze. 

*' For oh — the joy of two and two 
Your Paradise shall never see, 
The ecstasy of me and you. 
The white delight of you and me. 

*'/ know the penalty — the clutch 
Of God's great rocks upon my keel. 
Drowned in the ocean of Too Much — 
So ends your thief — yet let me steal. ..." 



THE SLAVE OF GOD 47 

The Slave of God she froze her 

face, 
The Slave of God she paid no need. 
And, thund'ring down high 

Heaven's space. 
Loud angels mocked the sailor's 

greed. 



The diamond sun arose, and tossed 
A billion gems across the sea. 
** The Slave of God is lost, is lost, 
The Slave of God is lost to me. ..." 

He grounded on the common 

beach. 
He trod the little towns of men. 
And God removed from his reach 
The cup of Heaven's passion then. 
And gave him vulgar love and 

speech. 
And gave him threescore years 

and ten. 



TRUE PROMISES 

You promised War and Thunder and 
Romance. 

You promised true, but we were very- 
blind 

And very young, and in our ignorance 

We never called to mind 

That truth is seldom kind. 

You promised love, immortal as a 

star. 
You promised true, yet how the truth 

can lie ! 
For now we grope for hands where no 

hands are. 
And, deathless, still we cry. 
Nor hope for a reply. 

48 



TRUE PROMISES 49 

You promised harvest and a perfect 

yield. 
You promised true, for on the harvest 

morn. 
Behold a reaper strode across the 

field. 
And man of woman born 
Was gathered in as corn. 



You promised honour and ordeal by 

flame. 
You promised true. In joy we 

trembled lest 
We should be found unworthy when 

it came ; 
But — oh — we never guessed 
The fury of the test ! 

You promised friends and songs and 

festivals. 
You promised true. Our friends, who 

still are young. 



50 TRUE PROMISES 

Assemble for their feasting in those 

halls 
Where speaks no human tongue. 
And thus our songs are sung. 



THE CORNISHMAN 

At sunset, when the high sea span 
About the rocks a web of foam, 
I saw the ghost of a Cornishman 
Come home. 

I saw the ghost of a Cornishman 
Run from the weariness of war, 
I heard him laughing as he ran 
Across his unforgotten shore. 
The great cHff , gilded by the west, 
Received him as an honoured guest. 
The green sea, shining in the bay, 
Did drown his dreadful yesterday. 

Come home, come home, you million 

ghosts. 
The honest years shall make amends. 
The sun and moon shall be your hosts, 
The everlasting hills your friends. 

51 



52 THE CORNISHMAN 

And some shall seek their mothers' 

faces, 
And some shall run to trysting places, 
And some to towns, and other yet 
Shall find great forests in their debt. 

Oh, I would siege the golden coasts 

Of space, and climb high heaven's 
dome, 

So I might see those million 
ghosts 

Come home. 



FIVE SMOOTH STONES 

It was young David, lord of sheep and 

cattle. 
Pursued his fate, the April fields 

among. 
Singing a song of solitary battle, 
A loud mad song, for he was very 

young. 

Vivid the air — and something more 

than vivid, — 
Tall clouds were in the sky — and 

something more, — 
The light horizon of the spring was 

livid 
With a steel smile that showed the 

teeth of war. 

53 



54 FIVE SMOOTH STONES 

It was young David mocked the 

Philistine. 
It was young David laughed beside the 

river. 
There came his mother — his and yours 

and mine — 
With five smooth stones, and dropped 

them in his quiver. 

You never saw so green-and-gold a 

fairy. 
You never saw such very April 

eyes. 
She sang him sorrow's song to make 

him wary, 
She gave him five smooth stones to 

make him wise. 



The first stone is love, and that shall 

fail you. 
The second stone is hate, and that shall 

fail you. 



FIVE SMOOTH STONES 55 

The third stone is knowledge, and that 

shall fail you. 
The fourth stone is prayer, and that 

shall fail you. 
The fifth stone shall not fail you. 



For what is love, O lovers of my 

tribe ? 
And what is love, O women of my 

day ? 
Love is a farthing piece, a bloody 

bribe 
Pressed in the palm of God — and 

thrown away. 

And what is hate, O fierce and unfor- 
giving ? 

And what shall hate achieve, when all 
is said ? 

A silly joke that cannot reach the 
living, 

A spitting in the faces of the dead. 



56 FIVE SMOOTH STONES 

And what is knowledge, O young men 

who tasted 
The reddest fruit on that forbidden 

tree ? 
Knowledge is but a painful effort 

wasted, 
A bitter drowning in a bitter sea. 



And what is prayer, O waiters for the 

answer ? 
And what is prayer, O seekers of the 

cause ? 
Prayer is the weary soul of Herod's 

dancer. 
Dancing before blind kings without 

applause. 



The fifth stone is a magic stone, my 

David, 
Made up of fear and failure, lies and 

loss. 



FIVE SMOOTH STONES 57 

Its heart is lead, and on its face is 

graved 
A crooked cross, my son, a crooked 

cross. 

It has no dignity to lend it value ; 
No purity — alas, it bears a stain. 
You shall not give it gratitude, nor 

shall you 
Recall it all your days, except with 

pain. 

Oh, bless your blindness, glory in your 

groping ! 
Mock at your betters with an upward 

chin ! 
And when the moment has gone by 

for hoping. 
Sling your fifth stone, O son of mine, 

and win. 

Grief do I give you, grief and dreadful 
laughter ; 



58 FIVE SMOOTH STONES 

Sackcloth for banner, ashes in your 

wine. 
Go forth, go forth, nor ask me what 

comes after ; 
The fifth stone shall not fail you, son 

of mine. 

go forth, go forth, and slay the 
Philistine. 



NEW YEAR, 1918 

A SONG I never heard 

I must rehearse, 

Counting each hour a word, 

Counting each day a verse. 

Not of my proper choice 

Raise I my voice, 

While others — fierce and strong 

Raise theirs to drown my song. 

Must I then sing aloud, 

Faint as a bird, 

And, like a bird, be proud 

To sing — to sing unheard ? 

Weary and very weak. 

Shall I then seek 

A hearing, idiot-wise. 

From the unhearing skies ? 

59 



60 NEW YEAR, 1918 

Drowning my whispered dreams. 

Great voices cry. 

They sing their songs, it seems. 

With better heart than I. 

Hush — I can hear Death sing — 

''''Here is iny sting," 

And the Grave echo — ''See, 

Here is my victory." 

To-night the heavens bend 

A Httle nearer. 

The singer is my friend, 

And I — at last — the hearer. 

No more to sing alone 

A song unknown, — 

Hush — very tense and thin. 

The dawn -like notes begin. 

THE END 



Printed in the United States of America. 



npHE following pages contain advertisements of 
books by the same author or on kindred subjects. 



I Pose 



By STELLA BENSON 

Price $i.2j 

The Gardener loves the Suffragette ! To- 
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The adventures of these two take them to 
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Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New Tork 



This Is The End 

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" Stella Benson . . . appears in the literary 
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THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York 



THREE RECENT VOLUMES OF POETRY 

Toward the Gulf 

By EDGAR LEE MASTERS 

Cloth, i2mo, $i.^O 

" The natural child of Walt Whitman . . . the only poet with 
true Americanism in his bones." 

— John Cowper Powys in New York Times. 

"Toward the Gulf" is a series of fearlessly true and beautiful 
p>oems, revealing American life and character as few books have 
done. In the style of the " Spoon River Anthology," Mr. Masters 
once more analyzes grimly but truly the motive of human conduct, 
and skillfully portrays in verse form the life and thoughts and 
ambitions of average folk. 

Reincarnations 

By JAMES STEPHENS 

Cloth, i2mo, $/.oo 

Mr. Stephens has here collected a series of poems in part trans- 
lations, in part imitations or expansions of old Irish material 
chiefly after Raftery, O'Rahilly and O'Brunadair. " Some of the 
poems," he says, " owe no more than a phrase, a line, half a line to 
the Irish, and around these scraps I have blown a bubble of 
verse and made my poems." 

Lover's Gift and Crossing 

By RABINDRANATH TAGORE 

Cloth, i2mo, $1.2^ 

"Contains, we should say, perhaps the very best work so far of 
that very remarkable man. In both depth and breadth of vision, 
in copiousness of imagery, in knowledge of the human soul, and 
in sheer artistic beauty, these little word etchings are unsurpassed 
in current literature and have not often been rivalled in any 
literature or at any time." — New York Tribune. 



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